


Fide Sed Cui Vide

by allonym



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen, Post Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-18
Updated: 2012-01-18
Packaged: 2017-10-29 17:52:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/322549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allonym/pseuds/allonym
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It seemed unlike Sherlock to arrange the endgame with Moriarty if he didn’t have an escape planned. But mistakes were possible, even for a Holmes.  He should know.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fide Sed Cui Vide

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for The Reichenbach Fall

Mycroft did not sigh his relief when Dr. Hooper lifted the sheet, but the grip on his umbrella loosened a little. It seemed unlike Sherlock to arrange the endgame with Moriarty if he didn’t have an escape planned. But mistakes were possible, even for a Holmes. He should know.

“Yes, it’s him,” he said for the record, and Dr. Hooper replaced the sheet.

“If you need a moment, to. . well, to compose yourself, you can use my office,” she said quietly.

His lips quirked at the implication, but he gave her a nod. “Thank you, you’re very kind.”

Her smile was sad. “I know.”

Her office was a little bigger than a cupboard, filled with file cabinets and an old grey desk. A calendar featuring twin Himalayan cats was on the wall, and a mug half filled with cold coffee sat next to a stack of autopsy reports.

Sherlock sat behind the desk, idly looking through a file.

“She’s a competent pathologist,” he said, sounding faintly surprised.

“I’m certain your autopsy will be impeccable,” said Mycroft blandly.

Sherlock looked up. “Ah, so she’s the doctor who diverted the bodies for your flight of the dead. Interesting.”

“One of them. She has a talent for fudging paperwork. Probably from her years of courting you with spare body parts.”

Sherlock grimaced but didn’t respond otherwise. He kept reading the report. Mycroft placed a briefcase on the desk, next to the stack of papers. Sherlock remained silent.

“It’s good to see you, Sherlock,” Mycroft said after a long moment.

“Is it,” said Sherlock, eyes locked on the report.

“Yes. Very much so.”

Those pale eyes shifted and fixed on Mycroft. “Sentiment? From you? Pity the impulse didn’t strike a little earlier.”

Mycroft remembered the feeling of freefall that struck him when he realized just how badly he’d been played by Moriarty. The words he had told John welled up and stuck in his throat, and he swallowed.

“I’m sorry, Sherlock,” he said.

Sherlock shrugged, his whole body a symphony of unconcern. “It was just another part of the game, to try to hurt me. Futile, of course. Moriarty should have realized I knew that you’d never put your brother ahead of Queen and country.”

“Except that I would. I did, when I let you continue to play with Ms. Adler’s phone instead of confiscating it,” Mycroft said.

“As if you could’ve taken it from me!” snapped Sherlock, slamming the report on the desk.

“Yes, because the pocket of your dressing gown was such a secure hiding place.” He hadn’t meant to bait Sherlock, but really, some things must be said.

Before Sherlock’s look of fury could find voice, Mycroft continued. “But that, too, was all part of the game. Moriarty’s plan to drive us apart. He could have decoded the email himself, of course.”

And that is what should have tipped him off, what should have given him the strength to fight the pressure to prove his _sentiment_ regarding his brother was not a liability. Because the phone was a bluff. No state secrets besides that scrap of an email. Nothing but tawdry scandals.

He absolutely should have seen that this miracle code was a bluff as well. The pain of having betrayed his brother for _nothing_ stabbed at his heart.

Sherlock’s voice was surprisingly gentle. “I notice you haven’t asked me about the computer code.”

“No.” Nothing more needed to be said.

Sherlock continued. “Another move in the game, of course. To show me that the big brother who knew everything, saw everything, interfered with _everything_ could be brought low. Stealing from me one of the few certainties in my life. He wanted to make sure I would never trust in you again.”

“Yes.”

Sherlock studied him across steepled fingers, and then smiled. A real smile, like one he might’ve given John. “Unfortunate for Jim that he was an only child.”

And the cold knot that had been sitting in Mycroft’s stomach since he spoke to John loosened. A strange tickling teased at his sinuses. Must be the chemicals. The ventilation in this office was atrocious. Time for both of them to get moving.

He tapped the briefcase sitting on the desk with his umbrella. “You’ll find the essentials for an elementary disguise. Cash and I.D.’s. Codes for various unmarked accounts. Locations of safe houses. You’re going after Moriarty’s web, I presume?”

“I have to. Most of his organization will be focused on scavenging through his assets and will have little interest in revenge. But there will be a core of true believers, those that will still play the game. As long as I’m dead, my... friends will be safe. Moriarty was insane, but he stayed true to his rules. However, if I’m to return, then the web will need to be eliminated.”

“What do you need from me?”

“Do what you can for Lestrade. And. . .look after John. Please. If he knows I’m alive, he won’t be able to hide the knowledge. But there might be a point. . .”

Mycroft nodded. He didn’t think that the good doctor would return to the state where his pistol looked like a sensible alternative to facing another day, but Mycroft would keep watch.

He cleared his throat. “Well, best of luck to you, Sherlock. Call if you need help.”

Sherlock stood, and for a moment Mycroft considered walking around the desk to give his brother a hug, something he hadn’t done for decades. He stuck out his hand instead, and Sherlock shook it with a smirk that said he knew exactly the impulse Mycroft had repressed.

“Try not to start any new wars while I’m traveling about. You won’t be able to badger me for help, you know.”

With an exasperated sigh, Mycroft turned to leave the office.

“Oh, and Mycroft?”

He looked at Sherlock, curious what else there could be.

“Thank you.”

The tingling in his sinuses was back. Best be going. With a nod, he slipped out the door and focused on his next task. He had a funeral to plan.

**Author's Note:**

> According to the internets, the title is the Holmes family motto, which translates as “Trust, but in whom take care.”


End file.
